


Amaretto Sour

by Contesa_lui_Alucard



Series: Ghosts of Paterson [4]
Category: Paterson (2016)
Genre: "good girl", Cockwarming, Daddy without the use of "Daddy", Dom Pat, F/M, Unprotected Sex, alcohol consumption
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-17
Updated: 2021-02-17
Packaged: 2021-03-13 04:49:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,212
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29521122
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Contesa_lui_Alucard/pseuds/Contesa_lui_Alucard
Summary: Paterson likes to mix cocktails for you. He also has a very particular way that he likes to watch you enjoy said cocktails.
Relationships: Paterson (Paterson)/Reader, Paterson (Paterson)/You
Series: Ghosts of Paterson [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2134542
Comments: 4
Kudos: 24





	Amaretto Sour

**Author's Note:**

> This all started because Jynzandtonic. That's it. Blame them.

Your drink sits on the bedside table, sweat collecting on the glass as the single ice cube inside of it melts, spurred on by the way the room has heated up considerably since this all began. Pat, pale and naked and stretched across the navy blue sheets, head resting on the pillow where the tips of his raven hair fan out around his head in a dark halo, stares up at you with wide hazel eyes, swallowing harshly as he reaches for the glass. 

“You look thirsty honey,” he murmurs, “here, have a drink.” 

You take the glass from him with an unsteady grip, squeezing it a little too firmly for fear of dropping it, splashing it across his broad chest. “Thank you, Paterson,” you reply softly, gazing down at him with heavily lidded eyes. His cock twitches at the sound of his name on your lips and you clench around him, pulling a groan from deep within his chest. 

“Go ahead,” he nods encouragingly, “drink. I want to know how it tastes.” You take a tentative sip from the Amaretto Sour, the sour mix hitting your tongue harshly before the soft almond pursues it. It’s delicious, Pat did an excellent job mixing it, but then again you aren’t surprised, your Pat was full of secret talents. 

And not all of them involved his little secret notebook. 

You lean forward, whimpering at the feeling of Pat’s cock shifting inside of you, the way it hits a completely new angle as you bend in half has you ready to beg for him to buck his hips, just once, please, he’s so close to that delicious spot, and— 

Your lips meet, Pat’s tongue wastes no time seeking entrance between your lips, licking into your mouth. The kiss is sloppy, Pat pillages for a taste of the sweet and sour drink, large hands coming up to hold you still, hold you close, as he licks your teeth, sucks your tongue. 

When he finally releases you, your head is still spinning, taking you a moment to answer the question he breathes against your lips, “You taste delicious, honey. Do you like your drink?” 

You manage an, “Uh-huh,” but that’s not what Pat wants to hear. “What was that, honey?” Pat asks with an edge to his voice. The world swims back into focus very quickly after that, “I love my drink. Thank you for making it for me, Paterson.” Pat nods, a little smile quirking up his lips, he’s once again pleased, “Then go ahead and finish it, honey. But take your time, I want you to enjoy it.”

“Yes, Paterson,” you respond breathlessly as you sit upright once more, bracing your thighs and calves around Pat’s hips for leverage. You bring the drink to your lips once more, taking another sip as Pat’s hands begin to wander up your bare sides. He waits until your mouth is full of the bitter concoction before his thick fingers reach up to tweak your nipple. You practically choke on the liquid in your mouth, entire body clenching up before you swallow down the mouthful harshly. 

Pat groans when you tighten around him, eyelids fluttering as he enjoys the squeeze of your startled cunt. He does it again, tweaking and pulling at the little bud until you’re keening over him, the hand not holding the glass planted firmly on his pillowy pectorals as you struggle to stay upright. His plush lips are parted as he stares up at you in a mixture of lust and awe, honey eyes heavily lidded, hands questing more frantically as he seeks out more ways to touch you, tempt you. 

“Don’t you like your drink?” He asks, when you all but abandon your efforts to consume it. “I do,” you’re quick to reply, taking another big sip, “it’s delicious, thank you Paterson.” He nods, squeezes at your thighs, your hips, digs his thumbs into the spots that make you crumple over, nearly spilling the drink. 

You take another large gulp, the sooner you finish the drink, the sooner Pat will let you move, and the need to do so is becoming increasingly more urgent. You don’t know how Pat does it, how he resists like this. The man possesses a level of control you can’t hope to comprehend. But he is far from unaffected, that’s obvious by the way he has begun to pant, the way he’s flushing from chest to cheeks, the way his big, black pupils have all but overtaken the honey of his irises. 

This time, when he licks his lips and cocks his chin, you know you’re in trouble. 

“Tell me what you like about this,” he rasps, voice dark and rough with his lust. He clears his throat, attempts to lighten up, but the shiver his commanding words gave you has already traveled from your head to your cunt. He feels it too, you see the moment he does, when his eyelids flutter and he pulls his full, pink bottom lip between his crooked teeth. 

The steadying breath you attempt to take rattles into your lungs, “I like being on top of you,” you start, taking another sip from your drink, “I like the way you look when you’re relaxing underneath me.” Pat nods encouragingly, fingertips skating up and down the sides of your hips. “I like the drinks you make, they’re so, so good. You’re a great bartender, Paterson,” you say with a smile, taking another sip. 

Pat sucks on his bottom lip, turns a slightly darker shade of crimson and nods again, “thank you, honey,” he murmurs softly. “You’re welcome, Paterson,” you breathe, the hand that had been on his pecs drifting up to delicately caress his cheek, your eyes follow it as you trail it back down to his chest, you know you’re going to have to brace yourself after this next one, “And most of all, I—“ 

Pat’s eyes widen. 

You stop, swallow, try again, “I love how good your big, thick cock feels inside of my tight, little cunt.” 

Pat’s dick practically wags inside of you, straining, bobbing. You whimper, nails digging in to the flesh of his chest as you swallow another steadying breath, “It feels amazing when you stretch me open on you.” Pat’s eyes are slits, and when he releases his lip it’s now a blood-filled red. One big hand drags across your torso to press flat against your pelvis, pressing in, applying more pressure to both of you. His thumb wanders down, down, finds the place where your lower lips meet, where your skin turns extra silky. Where, just below it, your slick drips and drowns the base of Pat’s cock. 

You take another sip, there isn’t much left, and just in time too because when Pat’s big, broad thumb begins softly stroking at the place where your lips begin, it becomes nearly impossible to think. All that’s able to flit through your mind is how close he is to touching your throbbing, neglected clit. Pat knows it needs his attention, and he wants to give it. It’s almost like he’s reminding it that he didn’t forget about it, reassuring it, soothing it, as he gently strokes the flesh above it. 

There was nothing Pat loved more than giving, and you knew that once you finished this drink, Pat was going to give you more than you could have ever asked for. He was going to give, and give, _and give_ , until you _begged_ him to stop, until you whined about how it was too much. But to Pat there’s no such thing as too much, especially not when it comes to what he can give you. He’ll give you pleasure, he’ll give you safety, he’ll give you stability, he’ll give you smiles, and he’ll give you himself, if you want him. His heart is already yours though, so there’s no giving you that. It fell into your lap the moment you first met, and every day since he’s prayed you’ll keep it. So far, you have, and so he gives and gives and gives in the hopes that you’ll continue to keep it, keep _him_. 

You look down at him with mouth agape as you struggle to find your words, the drink almost slipping from between your fingers as you momentarily forget how to grip it, “You— I— I love it when— I love—“

Pat smiles secretively, presses his thumb to apply the slightest of pressure, “Use your words, honey.”

You swallow, release a shaky breath, “I love your hands,” you rush out, taking another sip, only one more, you can take a big one.

“My hands?” Pat asks with a cheeky smirk, reaching up to flick a fingertip over your perky, pointed nipple. You nod, sucking in another breath as the stimulation, and lack thereof, starts to become too much, “Yes, I love your hands, and your lips. Your whole face. Your ears and your nose, I love them, I love kissing them.”

Pat looks almost sheepish, shy, at your babbled confession, those same adorable ears going the brightest shade of red as his brow furrows. You lift one shaky, unsteady hand and begin to trace careful lines across the contours of his face, trailing your fingertips over the bridge of his proud nose, across his cheek bones, over his pronounced brow. You trace the shell of each ear, rubbing the lobes between your fingertips. 

“And you,” you whisper, a soft smile on your lips, “I love you, most of all. Just you.” 

Pat looks almost lost for a moment, brows knit and mouth agape, as you gaze into eachother’s eyes. You take one last sip from your drink, finishing the glass, triumph coursing through your veins when you acknowledge what comes next now that you’re done.

You lean over, stretching towards the bedside table, and deposit the empty glass atop it. Pat’s lust-filled gaze watches you closely, intently, waiting until you’ve righted yourself in his lap before he moves.

Two large hands clamp down tightly on your hips, holding you still, as his long, powerful legs pull up on the bed until his feet are planted flat on the mattress. 

Pat swallows, “Did you enjoy your drink?” he rasps.

You nod, breathless with excitement, anticipation, “I did, I loved it, thank you Paterson.”

Pat nods, just once, slowly, “You did _so_ good, honey. _So good. _Do you know what good girls get?”__

__You lick your lips, clench around his cock, as if your body is answering for you, “Do they get Paterson’s big cock?”_ _

__He nods again, fingers flexing against your flesh, squeezing impossibly tight, “They do. What do you say, honey?”_ _

__“Thank y—ohh!” you’re cut off by the harsh bucking of Pat’s hips, who begins to jackhammer up into you. he leverages himself into a brutal, harsh pace, the tip of his cock beating against your cervix in a symphony of pleasure-pain that has you crying out, has your hands scrambling across his chest, leaving behind bright red scratches on his moonlight pale skin._ _

__His mouth hangs agape, brow furrowed as he thrusts relentlessly, bouncing you on top of him. Your breasts bounce freely with the force of it, you try to grab one, pinch your nipple, but Pat bucks you so hard and fast that you’re forced to keep both palms planted on his pecs for balance._ _

__And that’s just how Pat wants it, he wants you to hold on to him, he angles his hips, pulls his feet in closer to his body, and forces you to bend forward, lean closer to his face. You gravitate towards him, folding yourself closer, seeking out his lips, until the new angle he hits has you screaming out, eyes squeezed tightly shut in bliss._ _

__He cranes his neck up, sinks his crooked teeth into the flesh of your shoulder, grunts and groans as he pummels your pussy with his throbbing erection. He needed this, needed to feel the slide of your soft, wet, warm flesh around him. He releases one of your hips and reaches for your clit, does his best to apply pressure to it, to rub circles around it, as you bounce and scream in his lap._ _

__When your back arches and you thrust your tits into his face, when you rattle with a silent scream, when the walls of your heavenly pussy flutter around his sensitive length, he smiles to himself. He returns his hand to your hip and doubles down on his bone-rattling thrusts._ _

__You collapse over him, landing chest to sweaty chest, ear to ear, moaning and whimpering as it starts to become too much. But he’s close, you can feel it in the stutter of his hips, so you moan and clench and whisper in his ear, “Are you gonna cum in me, Paterson?”_ _

__“Ffffffuck, _yes, oh fuck_ ,” he swears, groans, bucks up into you once more before he holds his hips still, letting his spend coat your walls._ _

__Neither of you moves as you catch your breath, although he does release your hips, lets his hands roam across your back instead, pulling you into his embrace._ _

__“So good,” he whispers into your hair as he hugs you a little tighter, “you were _so good_ for me. Thank you, honey.”_ _


End file.
